


Told By A Trap Maker

by eveesolo



Series: Told By A Modern Girl in Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, MCiT, MGiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Short Story, This was in the idea bank for a long time, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveesolo/pseuds/eveesolo
Summary: Trapper was found by a group of bandits when her ass land in Thedas. Since then, she had witnessed things like magic, and encountered creatures like darkspawn and dragons running about. But the most dangerous thing she ever came across was an Antivan Crow.





	Told By A Trap Maker

The tavern is lively tonight, or maybe it’s the idiots at my table being just damn loud. I feel a headache coming on as they talked among themselves (I should say shouting that way my ear drums are pounding.) The ale on their breath immediately hits my nostrils like a revolting slap in the face.

 _Urgh_ , gag me.

The hot bitter smell loses the appeal to drink. I push my mug, still full, away from me. Not a minute later, the tankard is front of me again. Some of the liquid escapes the holding and makes a splash on the table’s surface.

“Lighten up, Trapper!” Aadris, chief of these local _merry men_ at the table, nudges his sharp elbow into my shoulder. It’s the same as being nudged by a bull. He’s a big guy… he also smells like one too, he’s covered in animal pelts and leather straps to hold together his taddy armor. Assdris, excuse me, _Aadris_ can easily be mistake for a barbarian.

I push it away once more and mumble, “Fuck off.”

As the headache progresses, my mood worsen, and so does my tolerance for putting up with Aadris’ bullshit. Grant it, my tolerance for him wasn’t high to begin with. I flinch when hearing my boss’s booming voice.

“Hey, wrench!” Aadris calls to the tavern maid walking by. “Get another round of drinks over here!”

She doesn’t find the name flattering at all. “The owner was just being nice before, giving you free drinks, but you’re draining his supply. You want any more? It’s time to cough up some coin.”

Aadris frowns and slams his mug on the table. Ale spills on impact.

The mood changes drastically at the table. From happy chatter to deafening silence twists my anxious heart into a pretzel. Those who notice the disquiet become quiet themselves, turning their heads to watch the scene unfolding.

Some voice with a thick accent cuts the tension. “Let this round be on me.”

A tan skin elf saunters over to our table and places a few sliver pieces in the waitress’s hand. He leans in uncomfortably close to her ear and whispers something. I watch her anger die down and a smile appearing on her face. It grows with each word he says and walks away very giddy.

This mysterious elf pulls up a chair from a nearby table and joins us. Not a moment later, the same tavern maiden comes back with enough pints for everyone on her serving tray. The drink I’m served is different, it’s tiny and steam rises from the liquid. A familiar herbal scent comes from it. Tea?

“Ah, yes, thank you.” He says, politely.

“If you need anything else,” The waitress trails her fingers up the elf’s arm, seductively. “And I mean _anything_ , you let me know.”

His eyes follow her movement. “I will be sure to do so.”

She winks flirtatiously before leaving the table, purposely swaying her hips and the elf notices as he smirks. The tavern returns to its lively state, however the men at our table has yet to join the jolly atmosphere. They stare at the elf, and so do I, for once I share their confusion.

Pretty faces don’t often join us, not unless their prostitutes.

For some time, the stranger doesn’t do anything expect drink his mug of ale. Looks are exchanged while I stare at the tea in placed in front of me. I cup my hand around it and feel the warmth radiating off it like a heating pad. Instantly my body warms up when I sip the hot liquid down my throat. The headache is kept at bay.

“What do you want, elf?” Aadris breaks the silence.

The tan elf blinks. “Ah! This would be rather awkward without introduction, yes? Let me save you the trouble.” He bows in head slightly. “My name is Zevran. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for—”

Just like that, the calmness I felt from the tea disappears. And, really, I couldn’t have picked the worst time to drink. My breath hitches when I hear the word _crows_ and the liquid goes down my air hole. He’s not fazed by my reaction; in fact he waits for me to recover my coughing fit before he continues.

“An assassin?!” I blur out.

“Quite right,” Zevran confirms, “Now to business. I am currently looking for a group of capable men to assist me with an ambush." He shrugs. "It is not how I normally assassinate my targets, but they are constantly on the move—”

“Listen here, knife-ear.” Aadris’ places his hand up to interrupt. Slowly, in the most condescending way says. “I’m not interested in what you have to say unless I see some coin. Coin you probably don’t have.”

_Idiot!_

This is how people lose body parts, such as an eye or finger. By being a dumbass racist and insulting _an assassin_ with a racial slur. Aadris’ mouth has a tendency to run faster than his thoughts, and it was just a matter of time before it gets his ass in trouble.

“Ah…” Zevran says, simply.

In the corner of my eye, a bit fat smirk appears on bandit leader’s face.  The assassin stirs in his seat as he reaches for something on his belt. My muscles tense from the anticipation of what weapon he grabs.

He doesn’t, instead he unties a small sack from his belt tied and drops it, with a large _clink_ , in front of the bandit leader. Coins fall out of the opening slip, silver coins.

“Payment won’t be an issue.” His Antivan accent makes the smugness stand out, more boastful.

Aadris takes the sack and opens it more. Sitting next to the ~~mindless~~ fearless leader, the tiny bag has nothing but silver. The coins shine under the torch light.

“That’s a lot of pretty silver coins, chief.” A bandit, Barlow, whistles. I find myself agreeing silently.

“If that’s not convincing enough, any loot they have is yours,” Says the suave assassin, “The only desire I have is taking their lives, nothing more.”

Aadris plays with the pouch in his hands for a moment, and then he laughs. He lets out a loud, hardy laugh, and turns to the men at the table. "How about it, men? Do we got ourselves a job?"

Obnoxious cheers echo against the tavern’s walls. The table rattles as they pound their fists against the surface in celebration. I lift my tea to prevent it from spilling, but some men who have a tankard in their hands copy the gesture. They make head way to other tankard holds and make toast.

"It seems so." Says Zevran, a smirk is painted across his face.

All are happy for the offer, expect for me. In my mind, Aadris just sign our death warrants. Accepting a job working for an assassin is far worse than insulting him. Backstabbing is involved, and I mean that in both literal and metaphorical sense. Fuck, count me out.

I try to stand up to leave, but the headache anchors me. Dizziness over takes my vision for a moment. I seat back down with a groan.

“I suggest finishing that tea before you saunter.” Zevran conducts my hands to reach for the mug and then guides it towards my lips. The tea feels smooth going down my throat. It’s relaxing and tames the headache.

“In Antiva, we call it Drunkard’s brew. Cure any hangover, instantly.” He dazzles me with a smile, and I find myself almost smiling back, _almost_. Shit. This must be poisoned because for a split second I thought of Zevran as a decent guy.

“To business then?” The assassin is eager to begin. “I have a plan that will lure my targets away from the highway. It involves a caravan, a few oxen, and an attractive woman.”

I almost choke on my drink again as his eyes lay on me.

“But before we get into those details, I am in need of traps—”

The moment that’s said, I feel a sharp slap to my back. My hissing is drowned out by Aadris shouts boastfully, "This here is Trapper, best trap maker out of the lot of us!"

As if the name didn't give it away. The assassin lifts an eyebrow towards the large man, silently questioning Aadris' intelligence. At least that’s what it appears to me. Can’t say I blame him, as I’m always wondering if Aadris was born without a brain half the time.

“She can make you whatever she needs!” Aadris adds on and slaps me on the back again. I shoot a glare in his direction.

“Truly?” Zevran asks.

“Just about,” I confirm in a grumble, and polish off my herbal tea. By some the miracle of Thedas the headache dissolves completely, I inspect the empty mug. What exactly was in that drink?

Now that I have some clarity, I shake my head. “But I ain’t doing it. Sorry, but where I’m from we don’t trust those who kill for a living.”

“Good advice for anyone.” Zevran agrees.

“How do I know you won’t kill us after the job is done because of some “leave no witness” policy?”

“Ah. You’re quite the sharp one.” He chuckles. “This is why you’re the trap maker, no? I assure you, if we had such a policy, it would ruin business. How else would we get new customers?”

I frown.

“Come on, Trapper!” Aadris leans in to whisper my ear. “He’s one puny elf, and there are twelve of us and more back at camp. You think he can take all of us?”

That tea was definitely poisoned because I’m actually agreeing with him. For once he’s stupid confidence brings me comfort. The assassin would be outnumbered, if he deiced to turn against us.

“Fine. I do it.” I sigh.

Our table cheers, and Aadris slaps me on the back. It stings and I hate every minute of it.

The elf nods, and just like that, we return to business. "Lovely, walk with me? We will go to the ambush sight. What I have in mind would be much better shown in explaining. I am more of a visionary of sorts."

"Now?" I raise an eyebrow, as well as my pitch in my voice.

"Preferably. I did mention my targets are on the move, yes? I have little time to set this up. How skilled are you with trip wire?"

"She can knot those in her sleep!" Aadris brags for me and he shoves me out of my chair. Someone with fast reflexes catches me before I hit the dirty floor boards, and that someone is the assassin. Zevran helps me to my feet.

My cursing can't be heard over bandit leader’s bellowing voice. “Assist the elf, Trapper! Make him whatever he wants.”

He chugs the ale in his hand and gets the attention of one of the waitress nearby. He orders another round of drinks for the table, in celebrating for a job we haven’t completed yet, let alone start. Aadris' already boasting what he's planning on doing with the earn money. Whores and boos, the usual.

“Shall we?” The elven assassins gestures his head towards the inn’s doorway. We leave the establishment, my ears ringing from the silence of nature. Zevran steals one of the lit torches placed outside, and lights our way to the ambush sight.

My focus keeps lingering on the elf in front of me, to not lose sight of him. I am alone with a professional killer after all. The torch in his hand makes him stand out not exactly difficult when you're walking in a pitch of darkness. The fire makes his tan skin glow, and his blond hair turns to gold. His side-braids are weaved neatly, like a chain necklace, and tied together with a thin thread. I stare at his arms, especially the one holding the torch as it reflexes the muscles in his biceps.

The muscles on the assassin are very well in shape, tone precisely to move swiftly. The light armor he wears shows, it hardly has any scratches. This elf is either a novice, or he's just that good at his job...

“Is there something draws you in?” Zevran teases.

I’ve been caught gawking, and a rising heat is speared across my cheeks.

I grumble. “Just trying to not lose sight of you, don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles. “Keep staring, if you so wish.”

“Not like you haven’t gotten stared at enough at the tavern.”

“I am nothing if not a gentleman. I won’t deny any beautiful woman pleasure.” Zevran winks and stops in his tracks. “Ah, here we are. Prefect sight, no?”

I follow him to a valley, and in the middle is a small clearing. There are only two paths leading out of the valley I’ve notice, and I’m sure the assassin did too. This must be why he picked this area. He can easily block in his targets. The moss-covered boulders surrounding the area are tall and wide, they can hide a few dozen men… or maybe a group of bandits.

“I was thinking of putting some trip wire here.” Zevran leads me to a very slim path, a path that can be used to get one’s self out of danger, if an attack broke out. I examine the boulders and notice the gaps between.

“Hold this for me, would you?” The assassin hands me the torch, and in-between one of the gaps he pulls out two crates very carefully, and very slowly. I take a peek. One create full of flask with unknown liquid and the other full of runes craved stone. The symbol is familiar to me as I’ve seen the bandits light fires using them.

“You want me to make a trap that sets off an explosive?”

Zevran smirks. “Oh, you are quite the clever little minx. That was what I had in mind, yes. Possible for you to accomplish?”

“I got a few ideas in mind.” I stake the torch at the ground, examine the material I’ll be working with. “Give a few hours, unless you’re planning to stand there and look pretty.”

“Someone needs to hold the torch and watch your back.” Zevran smirks.

“You mean backside...” I grumble.

“That, I cannot argue.”

I sigh with disapproval. Speaking of backside, I lift my shirt to retrieve my journal attach to my back. My beast band feels looser pulling it out. I flip through the oddly bound book and see chaotic scribbles of all my mechanical designs, pictures include. Most of them haven't been built yet, so I can't say ALL of them work.

“What is that you have there?” Zevran looks over my shoulder.

I push his face away. “Instructions for your trap, now leave me be. I got some work to do."

Zevran turns his cheek against my palm. His lips brush against my skin, and pucker them in a kiss. The assassin chuckles, “As you say, trapper maker.”

* * *

 

The work is going smoothly than I imagine. The trip wire is set up, and so are the explosive between the cracks of the boulders. All that’s left is the placement of the fire embedded rune above. The way the trap is set, the wire will release the rune and will set everything aflame. It’s the key piece, but also the most dangerous if not put together properly.

“I need help.”

Zevran has been staking lit torches on the ground, so it’s easier to see my handy work and not accidentally blow my hand off. He stakes one more before appearing by myside… a little too close for comfort.

“All right, but I get to stare at you luridly while I assist you.”

I roll my eyes. “Just… stand here and hold this above your head.”

I give him the rune. Zevran maneuvers himself to be front of me, trapping himself between myself the boulders.

He purposely faces me, our nose practically touch with how close we are. His seductive smirk tells me he enjoys the position he’s in. “Like this?” The elf raises his arm.

“A little lower, I can’t reach.” It takes all my concentration to keep my voice steady, being this close stirs… hormones. I’ve been under a dry sex spell for a while now… longer than I want to admit. If I’m in close proximity with a handsome man, wild fantasies will take over my mind. The assassin is no expectation, though he should be, because he’s an assassin. He has the ability to kill me right now, if he wanted.

But the dampness growing between my legs isn’t turned off by that fact. 

I can feel a blush rising and taking over my cheeks and neck. I focus on wedging a tree branch between the boulders and tie the rune to it. It’s a process, the rope has to be loose, but not too lose that the rune drops moments later, and that would be bad… very bad.

A hand slips around my waist, and I freeze my work. I don’t protest out loud, but I did give the accent speaking elf a look.

He shrugs. “To keep you balanced.”

“Don’t let it wander, assassin, or my hand might slip and you can say goodbye to your pretty blonde hair.”

“It might be worth losing some hair. Your curves are quite tempting… ah, no need to give me such a glare, I was merely jesting. But your curves, I was not.” His hand is firm against my side, but stays where it is. The lust is fogging imagines of what if I let that hand roam, let it roam lower…

An involuntary whimper escapes me. “You’re distracting me.”

“I will say no more.”

Zevran occupies himself… by my neck. His lips trail up and down of my expose skin, but never making contact. It sends me chills down my spine, and his teasing touches (or not touches) is making harder to focus.

“It’s as if you don’t want me to finish.” I grunt.

The assassin chuckles in my ear. “I would never deny a woman to _finish._ On the contrary, I would—”

I give up on tying the knot and pull away to look directly at Zevran. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Never,” He answers flirtatiously. “But, there is a very easy, very pleasant way to lock my lips.” With very word, his face inches closer to mine, his eyes lingering at my lips.

“You’ve been sweet talking all night, elf. If didn’t know any better, I say you’re trying to get me to sleep with you.”  

Half Zevran’s lips push against his cheek, his eyes hide no shame. “Well, that is because I am”—my face twists with doubt— “This need be no complex thing. You are beautiful woman and I am attracted. Is there any reason for us to not enjoy each other’s company?”

“You’re an assassin.”

“And you a bandit. You are just as distrusting, my dear. But for one night, we can get past all that, hm?”

His offer throws my logic and lust into a conflict, trying to dominate my way of thinking. Not realize how long I’m taking to give a clear answer until Zevran pulls back.

The handsome elf sides his hands off my waist and raise in the air in surrender. “If you are not of mind, however, it is no tragedy.”

_Screw it._

With one hand, I grab hold the edge of his chest armor and rail him towards me. Our lips collide and… shit this actually damn satisfying. His deep throat chuckle vibrates through the clashing kiss.

We pull apart for breath, and I stare at pair of hazel eyes full of desire.

“One night, only,” I tell him, purposely grid my hips towards his lower section. “Make it worth wild, assassin.”

“Is that a challenge I hear? Very well. I gladly accept.” Zevran’s lips dive back towards mine, and I welcome it along with his touch. His fingers combing through my hand send a shiver down my spine.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, breaks the heated kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank my roommate, as she was the one who convinced me to post this.
> 
> This tiny story has been in the bank for a LONG time, it's going to be a two shot story. That is it. It's not going to end up like Tavern Queen (Hopefully not ;___; I want ONE completed shorty story done.)


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